I'm Not a Hallucination!
by CheyanneChika
Summary: Another take on Sherlock's post Reichenbach return. John believes Sherlock is a hallucination.  Rated T for language and brief mentions of suicide.  A tiny bit SLASH-y if you squint real hard. Twoshot.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**It's been over three weeks and I still haven't shaken the angst of that last episode so here's another idea for how things will work out for our dynamic duo.**

**Part One**

"John, why are you ignoring me again?" He'd done this before when Sherlock had infuriated him but that had lasted about five minutes. This comment marked the third hour that he'd been in 221B Baker St. with John yet his numerous attempts to garner attention had fallen flat. John puttered about, going to his room, coming back, going to the kitchen, making tea and finally pausing beside the window to look out over the street. "John, honestly, why do you continue to ignore me? You asked me to not be dead and I'm not."

"That!" John said suddenly, jarring Sherlock with its alarmingly raspy quality. "That, right there, is why."

Mild confusion touched his eyes for a split second before it finally hit him like a ton of bricks. Of course, John hadn't known he'd been listening to him talk at the gravesite. He thought Sherlock was a hallucination. Sherlock, who'd been sitting in his chair bored got up and approached the window. He looked over his friend. Slumped shoulders suggesting both exhaustion and lack of personal interest. Clothes several days old suggests lack of personal hygiene as do the holey socks. Bags under eyes and new wrinkles suggest stress, inability to move on and fixation on clinging to the past. Belief in a hallucination suggests psychological trauma which causes depression, paranoia, anti-socialism and, of course, hallucinations.

Final deduction: total mind fuck. One that Sherlock had caused when he left three years ago.

"You know," John addressed the window. "I thought I'd moved past this. I thought I was done with the hallucinations." He chuckled softly. "So much for that."

"John, I am not a hallucination."

"That's what you always say."

Pursing his lips, Sherlock lifted a handed and tentatively gripped John's shoulder. "Do hallucinations touch you?"

"They do everything. I'm over it now."

"Everything?" Sherlock asked, confused by the implication. He let his hand drop away.

"Oh, are you not going to go to every length to prove you aren't a hallucination?" John turned to look up into those eyes that oscillated every time the light changed. They were pale green now. "That would be a change."

Sherlock gritted his teeth in exasperation. "What is it that I do that makes you think I'm not real?"

"Well, for one thing, you're here. You should be in a coffin under a marble slab."

"I'd be perfectly happy to exhume that body and run a DNA test on it."

John shuddered at the prospect and went on. "You only ever show up when no one but me is around to verify it."

"Where's Mrs. Hudson?"

"On holiday. She needed to get away from my moping."

"Lestrade?"

"Haven't talked to him in a long time."

"Mycroft?"

"The last time I talked to him, I was arrested for assaulting a government official. They won't even take a call if they think it's from me."

"Molly, then. Molly already knows I'm alive since she helped me fake it."

"Oh jeez, not this too." Sherlock looked questioning. "Oh don't play dumb. Hallucinations know what I'm thinking." Sherlock didn't try to deny it this time. He just waited for John to elaborate. "Molly told me she helped fake your death last year."

Sherlock's eyes widened. He'd expected Molly to take that secret to the grave if necessary. "Really," was all he said.

"She said that killing myself was stupid because my reason for doing so was still alive and out there somewhere."

Only the slightest widening of his eyes gave away Sherlock's emotions. "You tried…"

"Not very hard," John replied. "I was tired. I took a bath and then wondered how long I could stay under."

"John," Sherlock whispered.

"That was when Lestrade had enough. He said until l got my act together, he was done."

Sherlock was silent as he looked at John. His hard drive was in danger of frying as he stared into the bloodshot depths of John's eyes. There was so much pain that Sherlock couldn't work out where it all came from, how it got trapped there or what he could do about it. And he needed to do something about it. The small part of him that actually gave a damn about something other than the thrill of the chase demanded he repair the damage. "Come on," he said gripping John's hand.

"Come where?"

"Scotland Yard, of course."

John shook his head and pulled his hand from Sherlock's. "No."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Why not?"

"Because if I go down there of my own accord, Lestrade might get ideas."

"You aren't alone!" Sherlock was getting very annoyed now. His mind was going a million miles an hour, running through every possible outcome of going to the police station. Hell, he might get arrested.

But fixing things with John was more important. And he could always take his friend hostage again.

"Okay," John finally whispered as he looked Sherlock's face.

The man actually gave him a twitch of a smile. "Come on!"

**To be continued…**

**This is only gonna be a two-shot because I'm too tired and sick to work out what I'm doing for my next chapter.**

**Please review and make me feel better. Plus I'll give you cookies!**

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Sherlock. If I did I wouldn't make you wait a year and some change for the end of a cliffhanger.**

**Okay, here's the end of the story. Sorry it took so long to get up.**

**Part Two**

Sherlock stepped into Scotland Yard and breezed by the main desk without signing in or acknowledging it in any way. John followed sedately thinking that if he did then Lestrade would probably just think he was insane.

Which he was, he had to admit it now. There was no other explanation for following a hallucination everywhere. Even though Sherlock had been the one to hail a cab and give directions to the cabbie, that could all have been imagined and, subconsciously, he was the one doing it all.

But that was where things got confusing. Could he be aware that he was hallucinating and still continue to do things outside of the hallucination? His head started to throb. It was too complicated.

John looked away from Sherlock's lean back to look at the various PCs and DIs that were getting to their feet and staring at them—him. Sergeant Donovan had the most interesting reaction. She was closest to Lestrade's office and the last to hear the whispers. She looked up, stared for a moment, then fell out of her swivel chair. She stared up at Sherlock, her brown eyes wide as he stepped past her desk, hardly sparing her a glance, before twisting Lestrade's doorknob and going in without knocking.

Lestrade looked up and his jaw dropped a bit. "My word," he whispered as John also entered the room. "Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes. Here I am, totally alive. John, there's your proof." Without further ado, he turned around and brushed past his friend to sweep dramatically from the office.

"Nope," John turned to face Sherlock's back once more. "Still doesn't work."

Sherlock stopped and rolled his eyes. "John, this is undeniable proof. What more to you want?"

"This could be a dream. Or a state of delusion." John looked at the ground. He was so tired suddenly. The stress of having to deal with yet another day where his best friend wasn't dead when he knew that if he waited long enough, Sherlock would fade and he'd be alone, again, was just too much.

"John," Lestrade murmured, standing now behind his desk. "If this is an illusion, we're both having it."

"Or, I'm having it and you're just part of my mind making me think I'm not crazy."

"John!" Sherlock snapped, turning back. "You. Are. Not. Hallucinating."

John gave him a half smile. "And yet…"

Sherlock's hands balled into fists. His hard drive whirred with potential ideas to get John to believe him. "John, come on."

"Where?"

"Home."

John waved half heartedly at Lestrade who said, "Now wait a min—" but he was cut off by the abrupt closing of his office door. Outside, everyone was openly staring at them. Sherlock completely ignored them.

John raised his eyebrows as he closed his eyes and shook his head. Then he followed.

Sherlock was silent the entire way back to the apartment and John simply watched him. He'd tried not to at first but seeing his best friend again after so long made it impossible to tear his eyes away anymore. So he looked. Sherlock's fluffy hair and bright eyes and sculpted cheekbones were the same as ever though new wrinkles framed those eyes as well as his mouth. It was different from his old hallucinations but it had been two years since one of them had bothered him. Perhaps his mind was compensating for the time spent apart.

In the apartment, John went to the kitchen and made tea. Then he opened the fridge and took out milk and saw no body parts…further proof that Sherlock was not really there. He brought two cups of tea to the sitting room, setting one by Sherlock's chair and taking the other with him. He sat in his own chair and watched Sherlock where he sat. Sherlock was observing him carefully.

After a few moments of silence passed, he said, "John, from all of the deductions I've made today, I've come to a conclusion."

John snorted. "And that is?"

"Time."

John sipped his tea and raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, time. Tell me, John, how long has one of these hallucinations lasted?"

John considered. "A few hours," he admitted.

"Well, I showed up," he consulted his watch, "nearly six hours ago. Do they last longer?"

John hesitated. "No, but, of course, those were before I was crazy."

"You're not crazy." Sherlock sighed and looked toward the window. "Waiting is boring," he added dully. "And I'm hungry"

"Ah, now that is definitely crazy. You don't eat."

Sherlock looked exasperated again. "Only when I'm on a case! So go get take out and I'll still be here when you get back. I'll probably've thought of something else to prove I'm alive by then."

John rolled his eyes but got up. "And now I'm giving into my delusion's demands," he sighed. "If you're gone when I get back, I'm so kicking your ass."

A ghost of a smile flicked over Sherlock's lips. John shuddered and left.

…

He came back forty minutes later and hesitated outside the door. He knew that he should expect an empty apartment with its dusty furniture and bottle of milk in the fridge but there was the tiniest shred of hope in him. He crushed it down a bit and pushed the door open.

He was greeted by the sound of violin music. John had been making sure the instrument had been looked after, but still. He paused, listening and then reality crashed down on top of him. The song was completely unfamiliar. He knew a little about classical music and he knew every song Sherlock had ever played around him. This was not one he'd heard ever.

John scrambled up the stairs, not bothering to take off his shoes or coat. He reached the sitting room and saw Sherlock standing at the window, his thin frame swaying to the tempo as he played away. John just stood until the man stopped and turned. "I came up with another idea," he said simply.

John nodded mutely.

Sherlock's lips twitched. "Is there moo shu?" he asked.

"What? Oh, yes."

"Excellent," Sherlock approached and took the bag to the kitchen.

John followed him with his eyes then with his feet. "Sherlock?"

"What is it?"

"Where were you?"

Sherlock quirked his mouth. "It's a long story."

"I'm listening." John came over and grabbed a carton and some chopsticks.

"Well, Germany was the first stop…"

**I just wanna thank everyone who already reviewed/alerted this story and pre-thank everyone else who will review. I love you and will give you cookies for reviews.**

**Thanks for reading!**


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